Milkshake
by mad half hour
Summary: One large, triplethick strawberry milkshake, two straws, and a pair of ‘justfriends’ splitting it… DS oneshot


A/N- Well, I decided, since I'm so inundated by school work I have very little time to plan my stories out, much less write the chapters, I may as well use some of my free time to write a nice, fluffy, D/S one-shot. The idea came to me from out of the blue, and it was seriously too cute for me to resist…

Summary: One large, triple-thick strawberry milkshake, two straws, and a pair of 'just-friends' splitting it… D/S one-shot

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny, Sam, the Nasty Burger, or any other Danny Phantom character or place I mention throughout the fic. They all belong to Butch Hartman.

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**Milkshake**

The sign has been taped up to the windows of the double-doors for weeks. Unfortunately, Sam has gotten no chance to even mention it, much less propose they go down and get one. Besides, with Tucker around, it would be far too awkward to share one between the two of them… Though, they did used to do it at kids. When their parents knew they couldn't finish a drink, the obvious solution was simply, 'split it between your selves.'

She smiles fondly at the vague memory of a black haired, blue- eyed boy of eight grinning widely, chocolate and whipped cream smeared across his chin and lips, and dotting his nose.

Of course, its not like splitting one with him would be any different than the occasional cans of soda they sip and pass between themselves. It'll be the same casual passing, the same casual slurping, and the same casual, platonic brushes of the hand. It won't hold any more affectionate attachments than any other previous drink they can state they've split between each other. It'll be just like every other routine pot-luck between friends, even if she does wish it could lead into something more.

Still, if there is one person on the planet Samantha Manson would jump to do something as simple as split a strawberry milkshake with it would be Danny Fenton.

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The ringing of the school bell is shrill, and the majority of the humid, sticky classroom belonging to the ninth grade teacher of the English Department, Mr. Lancer, is out their seats and down the hallway before he can bellow another reminder of the final draft on A Midsummer Night's Dream. Others chat amongst themselves as they slowly gather their books, binders and bags; the students either in the shadows of the room or next to the old-fashion, non-rotating fan.

A black-haired boy with startling piercing blue eyes yawns widely and stretches, as if (and probably having just) awoken from a particularly pleasing nap. He wipes perspiration from his brows with his forearm before picking up his book bag and slinging it over one of his shoulders informally. With a polite word of adieu to his teacher, Danny walks briskly out the door and into the airy, spacious, and overall relief-bringing main hallway of Casper's English Department. A smile spreads across his face at the feeling of chilly air striking his baking skin; feeling much like a fire has been put out with a refreshing shower of water.

The half-ghost quickly reaches his locker and opens it up, greeted immediately by his piles of books, binders and notebooks, all in disarray. Loose sheets of lined paper poke out from the mess, and a graphing calculator lies half-crushed under his enormous Biology textbook, while pens and pencils are sparsely sprinkled through the jumbled clutter. He grabs books and the likes with ease, as if incredibly familiar to the exact location of specific objects within the sea of seemingly random school supplies, projects and assignments.

"Hey, Danny," greets a familiar, female voice. From his hunched position he can make out the gray, thick soles of her combat boots and the slightly scuffed appearance from use. From what he remembers, she has worn those boots since the first day of their freshman year.

"No guy messes with a chick in combat boots," he remembers her informing Tucker and himself sagely. Then they had laughed and she had shown them exactly why.

He rubs his shin in remembrance. Nearly nine months later, and he still insists that he can occasionally feel it throb.

"Hey," he returns with a smile, standing up straight and closing his locker. He locks it before leaning against it, his lower body left to slouch down slightly from the weight of his book bag. "So, what was it you wanted to do with me today?"

On the inside, he really does not care all that much, so much as it is just himself and Sam. Of course, he has nothing against Tucker, and its not like their excluding him (he left for a vacation with his family early this morning, and they had both said good-bye before they had driven off to the airport), but sometimes he really just enjoys getting some alone time in with Sam. As of late, he has not been having much of it…

"Nothing much," she teases him playfully, and he wonders if she knows he can see the mischievous glint in her lilac eyes. She begins to walk down the hall, towards the nearest exit, and he walks beside her, joining in with the rhythm of her strides.

"Oh really?" he quires, stroking his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "You wouldn't have happened to orchestrate some devious, elaborate plot, right?" He holds the door open for her politely, and in return he receives both a 'thank you' and a 'this is the twenty-first century; I can open a door without your help!' Danny doesn't really mind though; it is treat enough to see the sun's brilliant, near-summer rays strike her glossy, raven black locks.

What can he say? When a person begins to crush, they crush badly, and at this moment, he can probably pass as a lovesick puppy, the way he seems to chase her heels all day.

She smiles at him good-humoredly and nudges him with her elbow. "I guess you'll just have to find out when we get there, won't you?" She sticks out her tongue, taunting him, before breaking into a run. "Last one to the Nasty Burger pays!" she calls over her shoulder, and, while wondering why she has looked forward to getting something to eat at the Nasty Burger, he shakes his head before sprinting in an attempt to gain lost distance.

Danny realizes somewhere along the familiar trek to the fast food place Sam, Tucker and him self have hung out at since early sixth grade that Sam's hair bounces very attractively as she runs. Catching up to her, he takes up her stride, panting noticeably from his dash, deer-like in action. On a whim, his hand moves to touch the locks, and he finds them to be silken to the touch. He rubs his palm into her head, throwing her hair into disarray, before breaking into another run.

"Catch me if you can, Sam!" he calls out tauntingly, and he can hear the furious clomping of her heavy boots as they hit the pavement. Daring to take a peak behind him, he catches sight of her, gaining quickly, and picks up his pace considerably.

"You better run, Danny!" he hears her shout from behind him, and her mock-irate voice impels him to keep running. "Because when I reach you, you'll be wishing your 'accident' had done more than it did!"

He takes several labored breathes and shakes his head to clear his black hair from his eyes. To his relief, the Nasty Burger is clearly visible, and he turns to smile cheekily at Sam, only to find her a yard behind him. She snatches out at him and he yelps, dancing just beyond her grasp.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, Sam!" he mocks, returning his icy blue gaze to the scenery in front of him. By now, only one block remains.

"If you insist!" she retorts, and, she throws herself on his back, drawing a startled cry from his lungs. He just barely manages to balance himself as he skids to a stop, Sam's arms wrapped around his throat, and her legs moving, the knees coming to rest at the junction between his abdomen and thighs. "Come on Danny, a strong-ole' super-hero like yourself should have no problem carrying an innocent girl to the Nasty Burger, right?" she asks him quietly, her lips ghosting across his ear.

Danny blushes darkly, her warm body pressed against his back. His throat suddenly seems strangely tight, and in response he nods vigorously.

"Then, onward, my steed!" the Goth cries, using an attitude she adopts only for Tucker and himself. She unwraps an arm from around his throat to point forward, finger pointing out their destination. "To the Nasty Burger!"

The hybrid manages to laugh despite the restriction of his throat, and, moving his arms to secure Sam further, he trots down the majority of the block, jumping occasionally and throwing in random circles and spins to their path, ignoring the stares they receive. By the time Danny is letting Sam down, both have glassy eyes from mirth.

Deciding to steady their breathing and calm down before they enter the building, the two of them try valiantly to catch their breath and stop their sides from aching. As Danny's eyes travel to the red doors of the fast food restaurant, his eyes catch sight of a sign that immediately lights up his eyes.

"So they finally released them, then?" he inquires her as she leads him into the restaurant and into an empty booth. He sits her opposite and rests his elbows against the table. She laughs at his question lightly, and he raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Danny," Sam says with a small sigh, "The Triple-Thick Strawberry Milkshakes were officially released in early April." She smiles at him before standing up. "I think, since you gave me a ride over here, the least I could do is pay, right?"

"Thanks, Sam." She gives a simple raise of the hand as response as she walks into the short line, her hips swaying lightly as she does so. He wonders if she has always walked in such a manner, and is a tad disappointed in his self for not noticing such things earlier. Is he not supposed to be Sam's best friend?

Danny winces inwardly at the title. The label "best friend" is most definitely too small a term to hold all the emotions he feels for her, cannot possibly encompass his thoughts of her. He would rather like it if they were to become something more than best friends one day.

The boy sighs in frustration, reprimanding his self. Having an infatuation with your best friend is no doubt a serious infraction against the unwritten laws of friendship. Things like this destroy comradeship, ravage it and leave it a smoldering pile of ash and cinder. He bites his lip, knowing he could never do that to something as important as the relationship he shares with the Gothic girl now carrying a single, large, lidded cup in her hand and heading towards the table.

The swish of her skirt is enticing, and he forces his gaze away from her, cheeks probably tinged pink. He hopes that she had not noticed his gaze, or sees the light blush he can feel resting on his face.

"Here you go," she hands him a wrapped straw and sets the drink down in the middle of the table. Next to it she places a small pile of napkins. "You have no idea how long I've been looking forward to tasting this!"

"Well, if you've been wanting to try this half as badly as I have, I pity you," he responds, stripping his straw of the wrapper. He and Sam place the straws in the designated hole at the lid, and at the same time, lean in to take a sip.

The sweet taste of the strawberry flavoring, the sensation of the thick, frozen liquid traveling down his throat, does not compare to the shock he seems to receive as his forehead touches lightly against Sam's. He can just barely make out her eyes through his own bangs shutting softly. A smile is on her face, and it is obvious she is enjoying every sip she takes.

Feeling uncomfortable, he tries to maneuver his straw further away from Sam's, if only to gain a few inches apart from contact with her skin, to no avail. The lid is only meant to hold one straw, apparently.

Danny takes a few more gulps, unable to relax. It feels as though his every nerve has been charged, as though some non-existent heat is consuming his skin. His eyes seem incapable of being pulled away from Sam's face, from the contentedness rolling across it in waves. Strawberry is, after all, both their favorite.

She stops for a moment and glances up at him with a grin, not catching the tension knotting his muscles together tightly. "I think it was definitely worth the wait," she informs him with a small laugh, licking her lips to clear the pink residue from them.

His eyes travel over that pink tongue, over the sleek trial they make. His orbs take in every ridge, move up every slope, slide down every drop and dip, and he can see the shimmering in her purple lip gloss, can seem to make out the different shades of violet, glossy liquid, and he realizes as she wraps those delicious looking lips back around her straw, he would like to taste them, to taste the flavor of her lip gloss, feel those curves pressed against his own. He wonders, as he takes another sip of the drink, if Sam's lip-gloss tastes as sweet as this milkshake does. Surely nothing else can compare to her lips?

Danny draws his head back, shaking head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He should not be thinking this way about Sam! She is his best friend! If he thinks about her like this, he'll end up blurting something out, and then what? Will their friendship fall to pieces? Will all camaraderie between them tear at the seems?

The half ghost takes another sip and screws his eyes shut, trying his best to ignore the tingling sensation that runs through his body every time Sam shifts her head. He wants so badly to just kiss her, to just work up enough courage to tell her that he wants to call her something more than just 'best friend'.

And then his eyes are open and staring into her own, and he can see how much they seem to glow. He is reminded vaguely of the cheesy romance movies, to scenes of a boy and girl sharing a drink…staring into each other's eyes…closing the distance between them…their lips just barely brushing…

He can see them doing it too, can see himself running a hand through her sleek and shining locks, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to himself, and he can nearly feel the intensity between them in the daydream, can feel the warmth of her pressed against his chest, can feel her soft lips against his own, can imagine her wrapping her arms around his neck again, or her fingers working their way through his unruly hair.

The half ghost takes a particularly large gulp, nearly chocking on it in the process, and tears his eyes away from hers. He wants to groan and put his head in his hands at the pitiableness he is exhibiting, but at the same time he just wants one moment like that with Sam, just one moment to find out what she feels for him.

Could she ever like him the same way he likes her, or is everything he is feeling wishful thinking? Is it possible for someone as intelligent and levelheaded as her ever fall for a guy as goofy and illogical as him? …Surely not…

Danny's heart yearns to find out, to know, to work up enough inner-strength to just come out and say how much he cares for her, but the fear of rejection makes him freeze up at every possible chance, makes his words hitch in his throat in every day dream. The image of her turning and walking away plagues his nightmares, and he could never stand to see her eyes suddenly become as cold as ice, to see them throw frosty glares at him.

The logical part of his mind assures him that Sam, whether his feels were reciprocated by her or not, would never do that to him, but logic has never been a very close friend with him anyway; logic states that a person cannot be half dead, and yet, here he sits, drinking a nearly-gone milkshake with his 'just best friend', still breathing, heart still beating, but with the unique ability to turn into a ghost at will.

A loud slurping sound snaps him from his pensive thoughts, and his head jolts up to catch Sam just unlatching her luscious lips from her straw again. Her lips travel across her lips unbearably slow, seem more tantalizing than any flaunt or flirting glance Paulina had ever performed to catch his alter-ego's eyes. This…this is torture in the worst form possible!

She laughs, and he realizes his expression must be rather blank. Blushing, he rubs his neck with a hand lightly.

"So, what are you thinking about?" she quires, gathering the trash to be thrown out.

He shrugs his shoulders, refusing to meet her gaze. If he does, he knows, he'll say something he shouldn't dare to say to her. "Just…some stuff…"

"Really now," she says in amusement, and she stands and stretches. "It sounds absolutely fascinating."

Danny does not answer, unsure of how to respond. He is incapable of thinking straight, cannot register more than a hand full of words at a time, much less string full sentences together.

He can see a small patch of skin, just near the corner of her lip, where she had missed some of the milkshake. It glares at him like a furiously bright light in an otherwise black room, so white it could be mistaken for blue, and, mustering up his nerve, he leans over and presses his lips to it gently.

Danny feels her stiffen at the action, and he tries his hardest to smile in a friendly, gentle sort of way. "Uh…thanks, Sam… It was great." And before she can properly register his action, before she can say a word, he has snatched up the empty cup, the dirty straws and spoiled napkins, and is heading for the trash can.

One he is sure he is out of Sam's earshot, Danny sighs in a mixture of worry and happiness. Her lips are definitely sweeter than any milkshake, that's for sure…

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A/N- Eh, I'm not sure how this came out. I'm so-so, I guess. I probably should have tried drawing it out more.


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